Silent Hill: Manifest Destination
by Order of Valtiel
Summary: Before Heather & Harry Mason, and Alessa, there was Dahlia Gillespie...A damaged child, Dahlia tries to lead the Order into bringing about the birth of a new God, so the town must ready itself for a new hell about to be wrought. Then, when a girl goes missing in the sleepy town of Silent Hill, all eyes turn to the mysterious Dahlia and friend Leonard Wolf. *RE-WRITTEN CHAPTERS*
1. Alchemia General Hospital, 1955

_Hi! Welcome to_ "Silent Hill: Manifest Destination."

 _In Silent Hill: Manifest Destination, we go on a journey into the past. In a time before Heather Mason, Harry Mason, and even Alessa Gillespie, there was Dahlia Gillespie and the orthodox religion she belonged to. Herein lies the story of how Dahlia came to be, and, consequently, how Alessa's existence came into peril. Who was Dahlia before Alessa?_

 ** _Synopsis:_**

 _When a politician's daughter goes missing in the quiet resort town of Silent Hill, all eyes avert to the mysterious teenage girl Dahlia. Special Agent Donald Dunham is called in to investigate the disappearance of the girl, but he soon finds out that his appearance in the sleepy town is not welcome. His investigations lead him down a dark path into the foggy depths of Silent Hill as he uncovers its lost history. The town seems to want to seep him from finding the lost girl as he falls victim to its dark charm._

 _I hope you enjoy! Reviews and feedback are greatly appreciated!_

* * *

 **1 : ALCHEMIA GENERAL HOSPITAL, SILENT HILL – 1955**

The autumn breeze that swept through the hospital's courtyard had a chill bite that penetrated through the skin and down into the bone. The conifers that lined the courtyard's pathways shivered in the wake of the wind, whistling as the cold air blew through them. Charlotte Garland, a charged nurse at the hospital, paused briefly in her tracks and patted her patient on her shoulder, taking in the brisk air.

The girl in the wheelchair was incredibly bony and frail. Her shoulder blades protruded against her cotton gown like jagged rocks in a seabed.

"How are you feeling today, Dahlia?" Charlotte's voice brushed smoothly along the girl's pallid cheeks like silk against her skin. The patient named Dahlia turned her head slightly to look up to the nurse and gave her the faintest smile. Poor girl was only seven and had already gone to hell and back, and yet was already able to muster the strength to smile.

Charlotte returned with a smile and wheeled the child on. She continued to tell her story of a peculiar little girl that went chasing after an even stranger white rabbit that went chasing after time.

They pushed through the double doors, back into the building, and made their way down the corridor, up the elevator to the third floor, and further down another corridor. The fluorescent lights above them hummed a solemn tune. It seemed particularly more solemn on the third floor. As the corridor became filled with nurses and patients, the humming fluorescents became masked and layered with the clacking of the nurses' heels and the squeaking of wheelchairs and gurneys. Charlotte wheeled Dahlia into Room 302, pushing her up to her bed, which was situated in the centre of the room, between two other beds, currently occupied, and was separated by a thin, sea foam green curtain. The nurse helped the little girl out of her chair and onto her bed, straightened out her hospital gown and guided the girl to lie down.

She looked at the little girl with a smile in her eyes, running a warm hand down her porcelain skin.

"We're going to make everything all better for you, Dahlia. You've been so strong – _so_ strong. And you've got a big day tomorrow. Are you ready?"

Dahlia hesitated, then finally nodded her head.

"You're _so_ brave." Charlotte took out a large rubber strap and fixed it tightly around Dahlia's spidery skeletal arm. She tapped gently at the tiny arm to get a vein to protrude, and when it finally did, she turned again to Dahlia. "Can you count down from thirty for me sweety?"

* * *

Dahlia closed her eyes and started counting down from thirty. She started to feel the numbness take over her right arm as the rubber band tightened. She felt the cold swab of alcohol on her inner elbow – _Twenty-five_. Charlotte massaged it, humming softly and beautifully as she prepared her vein for the syringe. Her humming always seemed to calm Dahlia down. It was the hymn _'_ _Lost Carol of Our Lord Our Holy Persecutor_ _.'_

 _Seventeen._

"Such a brave girl." Charlotte repeated.

 _Ten – Nine – Eight – Seven._

Dahlia didn't know why she was still so afraid of the needle after having gone through ten sessions already. But she could still feel her heart race in her tiny chest.

 _Four – Three – Two._

"Deep breath. And – "

The needle slid gently into her arm. Breaking through her clammy skin, puncturing her tiny vein.

"Breathe out. Good girl."

Although it didn't hurt since her arm was still numb, Dahlia winced as she felt the syringe glide out from her arm. Charlotte placed a small cotton ball on the injection site and taped it down.

Dahlia opened her eyes once more and turned away to face the curtain partition that separated her and her neighbour. The sea foam green colour of the curtain started to swirl and warp and then flickered from one colour to the next, as if someone was turning a dial.

Red. Blue. Purple. Orange. Yellow. Clouds. She saw clouds. White. Purple again. The curtains started to fade away. Large puffy clouds taking their place. And then she was floating with them. Removed from her bed. But just as soon as she started floating, she went falling.

She felt her heart leap from her tiny body as she crashed in slow motion back into her hospital bed. The world around her came back into focus, but different. She was alone now. A sudden chill took over her body. She scanned the room, but Charlotte was gone. The curtains that separated her from her neighbours were pulled back – they were still there. But strange black plastic bags now covered them.

The world had become dark, the colour from the world seemed to melt _upwards_ , rising and dissipating into nothingness. The paint on the walls moaned in agony as they peeled and floated away into the ether, and the floor rumbled and cracked, revealing beneath its laminate tiles a rusted wrought iron grating.

Her thoughts began to scramble as the world around her grew darker. She sat up in her bed, looked around some more and noticed strange particles floating listlessly in the stale, stagnant air.

Somewhere in the distance she heard a burst of radio static. And then –

 _Clang!_ A sudden crash of metal hit against the floor.

She wasn't alone after all.

Dahlia climbed down from her bed, her legs weakened and numbed—they were slightly incapacitated from her medication. Her white hospital gown stood as a stark contrast to this Other World, and it seemed to glow effervescently in the dark. As she managed to drag her feet forward through the darkness, she could hear the static on the radio grow louder. Whatever had hit the floor seemed not to move.

She let out a weak cry. "Hello?" her tiny voice barely penetrated the darkness. "Charlotte?" there came no answer.

The room's temperature plummeted. Somehow, the white-grey particulars that moved listlessly in the air just hung there, suspended, not falling nor rising. As Dahlia moved slowly through the room, the particles swayed around her body, collecting on her gown and skin. Her gown faded from the bright white into a light grey like _ash_.

She pushed open the door into the hallway with an emphatic nudge, as it seemed to have been stuck. It was heavy like metal. It moaned an agonising tinny sound. She walked out the door and saw nothing but darkness. The door swung shut behind her with a heavy _thud_ and _click_. The lights above still hummed though they were not on. The carriages that held the lights swayed gently in the stagnant air, creaking as they did. The walls had decayed out here as well and the floor was all the same rusted grate as in the room.

Dahlia made her way down the hallway, dragging her feet as she went. She walked toward the flickering light on the ground.

Turned over gurneys and empty wheelchairs littered the corridor—they were stained a deep brown red and rusted over time. The wheels on the gurneys spun slowly from an unknown force as she made her way past them.

The light flickered more intensely as she got closer to it and the radio static grew louder still, somewhere in the distant darkness. She reached down for the flashlight and shook it a few times to get it to stop flickering, but to no avail. She could hear the batteries rattle inside. She kept it anyways, as it was her only source of light.

Dahlia held the light close to her body, shining the flickering light ahead.

 _On. Off. On. Off._

She had to move slowly to ensure she wouldn't trip on anything. The metal grate beneath her trembling feet clanked mutedly as her little body worked down the hall. The light still went on. Off. On. Off.

The new dark world made itself present to her only as the light flickered on. It was impossible for her eyes to adjust to the darkness this way.

Up ahead she could see the restrooms, and she knew that just around the corner was another doorway that led to the elevator that she could take down to the nurse's centre on the second floor.

 _"_ _Dahlia?! Dahlia! Doctor, she's gone!"_

Dahlia stopped just before the men's restroom at the sound of the voice. It echoed somewhere in the darkness. And then somewhere too, she heard the clacking of the nurse's shoes. Another voice barked back at her.

 _"_ _What? Where could she have gone?"_

The voices became indistinct. They were getting muffled by the static, which she could still not find the source of.

"I'm here! I'm here!" she wanted to scream, but her throat was blocked and dry.

 _"_ _I just turned around and she was gone—"_

A door burst open suddenly from behind Dahlia. The metal hinges crying in pain. Dahlia jumped, turned back and saw what came through the door as her weak flickering flashlight revealed a lurking mass of limbs before her.

The _thing_ was the size of a man, almost as tall as her father. It had what looked like glistening _legs_ , spread open over where its head should be, and another pair wrapped around its waist. Its arms were muscled and protruding with veins. It was completely naked, save for a soiled apron that hung around its waist where the other pair of legs was wrapped. Its red, sinewy body lurched forward through the door.

Dahlia let out a weak scream and turned to run, but her numbed legs forced her to gimp. The creature turned slowly in her direction at the sound of her voice.

Turning passed the restrooms, she pushed through the double doors that led into the adjacent corridor and turned immediately into the first door she saw to her right.

 _"_ _I heard something—"_ came the disembodied voice again. It was the doctor's.

Dahlia made her way through the darkened room now. It was lined with shelves and boxes. She turned around a corner and dove for a pile of boxes to hide. She clasped her little hands together and began to pray.

"Oh Mother God, please protect your innocent child. Please God. _Please_."

She kept her hands clasped together, muttering her prayers beneath her breath, still loud enough for God to hear, but quiet enough so the creature couldn't. As she sent her prayer for God to hear, a loud air raid siren could be heard penetrating the darkness and static.

The floor beneath her trembled softly as the metal grate began to close and merge into solid tile. The rust of the metal on the floor, walls and shelves peeled away and lifted into the darkness, which also seemed to peel back as the fluorescent lights above flickered back to life. Her own flashlight, which was now by her knees, suddenly powered on, its flickering ended. She could no longer hear the radio static in the distance, but instead the incessant sound of the nurse's heels and the squeaking of gurneys and wheelchairs replaced it.

But Dahlia still stayed in her corner, praying to God to protect her from the darkness.

The door to the storage room swung open suddenly.

"Dahlia?" the nurse called out.

Dahlia's ears perked up. The familiar voice no longer sounded distant and disembodied, but close and warm.

"Charlotte…" She whispered, then opened her eyes and realised that the darkness had faded away and that her prayers had worked.

Charlotte turned the corner and found the little girl huddled on the ground with a look of bewilderment on her face. Her white hospital gown had somehow been soiled by what looked like ash. She knelt down next to the girl and gave her a nervous smile.

"There you are, sweetness. You had us worried."

Dahlia looked squarely into the nurse's eyes and said, "God was protecting me."


	2. Dahlia Unwound, Gillespie House, 1958

**2 : GILLESPIE HOUSE, CENTRAL SILENT HILL – 1958**

Dahlia disembarked from the bus, Liam, her cousin trailed behind her. She turned immediately and ran off down the street.

"I'll see you tomorrow Liam!"

The golden brown foliage littered the ground like burning flames on this cold October day. Pumpkins lined the walkway of all the houses in the neighbourhood.

She hurried down the street and turned at the corner, sprinting now to get home. The houses, all colonial in style, got bigger and bigger as she continued until she finally came upon the last house on the street. As she ran toward her house, she noticed that her father's car was in the driveway. She slowed to a brisk power walk, caught her breath, and slowed even more to a careful traipse.

The Gillespie house was a large colonial-style home that stood atop a small hill, surrounded by trees and shrub. Its exteriors painted over in a dark charcoal, accented with white window trimmings. Tall windows dotted the house on all three floors, always covered with curtains. It was a bishop's house.

With her books in the one hand, she patted down her plaid school uniform with the other, straightened her hemline, and ran a quick brush through her hair with her fingers. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest – she could hear the anxiety amount in her ears as blood coursed her body. Her father was home early.

She walked through the large black door and entered into the foyer. As she tried to step lightly on the darkened wood floor, the house moaned lightly in protest. She turned into the family room to her immediate left and found her mother sitting idly in her armchair, eyes rolled back, cigarette dangling dangerously from her skeletal fingers over the woolly rug. A half empty glass of bourbon and pills sat by her side. What a pathetic sight, she thought, as she walked over to extinguish her mother's cigarette.

"You're going to burn down the house with all of us in it one day!" she muttered under her breath.

Dahlia scanned the room for signs of her father. He hadn't even bothered to come in here.

She walked into the adjoining dining room where a Book of Prayers lay open on the table. Walking past that, she crept into the kitchen, where she heard someone moving hastily throughout.

The kitchen was a large and mostly white space, save for the large windows that lined the corner walls. The blinds were slid open, allowing in the afternoon light. The same black wood that covered the floors stretched into the kitchen, ending at the white-painted brick walls. In the centre was a sizable island of white oak topped with a white and grey marble slab. And in the opposite corner she found her older brother, Balthazar Junior.

"What are you doing, BJ?" she asked, walking over to him.

He turned quickly, half-startled by his little sister. He was rummaging through their mother's purse again.

Balthazar Jr., so named after their father, was a handsome young boy of thirteen. He was tall for his age, having hit a growth spurt early on. His lean, muscled pre-pubescent body outgrew his school uniform, which he was still in. He immediately turned back when he realised it was only his sister.

"We need more milk," he responded. "Mom wants me to stop by Nathan's before dinner."

Dahlia, who, even at the ripe young age of ten, had a keen sense as to whether a person was lying or not, glided over to the fridge, peeked inside and found a half-filled jug of milk still sitting there from the morning's drop-off, but knowing that her brother wouldn't hesitate to beat her, she decided not to pursue him on his lie. Instead, she continued through the kitchen into the adjacent hallway and stopped before a door that led down to the basement – or what was more affectionately called her bedroom.

She climbed down the stairs, step by step; each plank sighed beneath her feet. The staircase had one railing, and on the other side was the cool, oak wood wall that made up the east end of the basement. She dropped her school bag on a wooden chest at the foot of the stairs and turned to enter her room.

The air was heavy and stale in Dahlia's bedroom. Though it was technically the house's basement, it was relatively small and spare of any decoration or any real furnishings. The room was only one part of the house's sub-basement level floor plan, but she had no access to the other parts of the sublevel from her bedroom—that entrance was at the side of the house, and had its own set of cement stairs. On the other side of the east wall was the laundry room and cellar.

There were patches of dark corners that littered across the room, hiding within them the deepest pits of despair where light daren't show upon it. The wooden walls were barren, save for the few shelves that protruded from them. A line of small, rectangular windows dotted across the north-end of the room near the ceiling, giving her a view of the backyard grass and a tiny peek at the lake's bank beyond that. The windows also let in what little light from the sun was left as dusk approached.

Upon her shelves were books of the Order. She, at the young age of ten, had amassed them over the course of the year since her ninth birthday, determined to read them all. Her father insisted she imbue herself with the wisdom of the Order, for she may one day become High Priestess of the Order, just as his mother was before her untimely death.

Dahlia did have a few antiques, relics, rather, that she had received from her grandparents and great-grandparents. They were like treasures to her, as a testament to the past and of her family's great history in the town of Silent Hill.

As she turned the corner to stumble toward her bed, she froze. She found her father, sitting on her bedside with his tired jute rope in one hand and his Book of Prayers in the other. He beckoned her over to her desk, which was situated parallel to the foot of her bed.

 _"Sit."_ He motioned sternly to her. She dare not ever disobey her father.

Her prayer desk and her bed both sat up against the west wall, also wooden. The desk was a finely carved piece of Victorian furnishing passed down through the Gillespie family. Upon it was a single vanity mirror, laden with ornate woodwork, the only extravagant furnishing in the whole room. The desk held two drawers with glass knobs.

She lowered herself into her rickety wooden chair, noticed that her father already turned opened her Book of Prayers to their evening's lesson: _Holy Mortification of the Sinful Spirit_.

* * *

An hour went by, though it felt an eternity to Dahlia. Their lessons, her father felt, were a disappointment. As he marched back up the stairs to return to the land of the barely living, Dahlia sat quietly at her prayer desk. He had left her alone to suffer with her thoughts. She stared blankly into the vanity mirror before her, still unsure of how to feel after her lessons with her father.

Her body was filled with fear and denigration, and her heart still pounding profusely in her chest. To be a bishop's daughter was a demanding and great calling. At least that is what the brethren told her when she went crying to the church for help after her first holy lessons with her father. She still felt his hot breath on her neck when he instructed her to recite the holy gospels from her Book of Prayers. His big hands would pull at the rope around her soft and nimble wrists if she hesitated or cried or showed any signs of weakness.

 _"To feel the pain and the pleasures of the body as God once did is to be closer to God."_ He would recite this before they began their lessons.

A tear rolled down her cheek, but she quickly wiped it away. She heard her father scream in the back of her head, her wrists burning more now at the thought, _"Don't let your fears get the better of you, Dahlia. Embrace them or strike them away with the power from within!"_

As he would bark in her ears, his arms would let go of the ropes momentarily and reach from behind her and grab her spindly little legs, her smooth, infantile limbs in the grasp of his calloused hands. She winced at the fresh memory of the pain and the shock from his advances. Her heart raced as blood struggled to circulate her body. His fingers would rove around her inner thigh.

 _"Fight the fear Dahlia. Your whimpers are signs of weakness!"_ he would clamp down on her legs with all his strength at the slightest cry, once almost breaking her leg. But she couldn't help her weakness. And once, when she fought her whimpering and complaining, she was not able to fight back the tears from streaming down her gaunt young face. Her father took the heavy Book of Prayers from under her arms and smacked the back of her head with it. He breathed angrily to her so that only she heard him, _"Do you think our saints and holy angels ever cried at their persecutions by the Puritans?! Do you think God would allow such a weak coward into her arms?! Why don't you strengthen yourself, you silly girl?! I fear God is saddened at your pathetic prayers and your sorry sight! Look at you!"_ he would grab her forcefully by the chin and force her gaze upon her reddened faced in the mirror.

His voice pounded deep in her subconscious, so much so that it created a growing pressure in her head. His breathy, booming voice overpowered all other thoughts. She glared at her reflection now, disgusted by her own face of weakness.

 _'Father is right,'_ she thought. _'Look at you! You're weak! You're weak! Your weakness is not worth God's embrace! I hate you! I hate you!'_

The blood in her body boiled, surging through her veins like an angry flame. Her eyes teared up even more, spilling over her ducts and streamed down her face. The tears felt hot against her cold skin. Her body trembled in her chair as she began scratching her nails into the wooden desk. As her rage manifested outwardly through her body, it worked its way through the antique desk. The mirror rattled suddenly and violently, then cracked. A single vein splintered from one corner to the other, dividing the mirror and her reflection in two.

Dahlia jumped back in shock, almost falling over in her seat. She wiped her tears from her face, her rage dissipated as fast as it had overtaken her. She was astonished at what she had done. But what did she do? Did she even do anything at all, she thought.

Her heart still pounding, her breathing became erratic, and sweat started to run down her face. She stared back at the mirror, examining the crack. There were two reflections now staring back at her. All four eyes were red and puffy with tears but filled with wonder and bewilderment.

As she stared at herself, she thought that one of her reflections had shifted on its own, and maybe grinned back at her.

The lights in her room flickered suddenly. And somehow, in that instantaneous moment, Dahlia felt a familiar, cold and stagnant air take hold of her senses. The world dissolved into darkness in that instant, but just as soon as it had shifted, the lightness returned.

Dahlia leapt from her chair, shuffled back away from the desk as her Book of Prayers shot open. Its pages flipped rapidly back and forth as if someone was thumbing through it, but there was no wind in her bedroom, let alone the basement.

As the book was trying to figure out where it was turning to, Dahlia heard a faint, distant drumming sound. It was soon accompanied by a low, throaty chant in a language she couldn't understand.

The book then stopped. The drumming and the chanting faded away. And Dahlia tiptoed back to her desk to examine the book.

There was a geometric symbol of sorts at the very top of the page in blood-red ink. The symbol was made up of a series of circles. The outer rim of the circle had within it a smaller ring, and within that second ring were three smaller circles yet and several ancient runes and scribes that detailed the holy sign. It was the Halo of the Sun, the symbol of her religion. And directly beneath the symbol was the title of the chapter:

 _ **THE HOLY SACRAMENT OF VALTIEL AND RECKONING OF OUR HOLY MOTHER GOD'S PARADISE UNTO EARTH  
**_ _Valtiel, Agent of God and Protector of Paradise Incognito_

Her petite hands trembled over these words. She has heard of these stories before, of the holy Archangel they called Valtiel. He was the benevolent Angel of God who protected her and attended to her every will, but he was also the Holy valet that watched over the Gateways between worlds – the world of human suffering and of the world of human wandering, or Purgatorio. And even more importantly, still, his greatest task was to usher in the rebirth of God, as Holy Witness to her Rebirth and carry her to her rightful place atop the world to purge the earth and merge the two worlds to bring about Paradise.

And now here before her was the ritual – the now historic ritual – that she had only heard through rumours and gossip amongst the adults and the oldest members of her faith. It was the ritual that would bring forth the awakening of Valtiel and the subsequent rebirth of God.

 _'But these stories were torn from the books long ago and rebound,'_ she thought, remembering one woman saying so.

They were torn, as the stories went, from every Book of Prayer across the land after several failed attempts at resurrecting God. Some stories mentioned several investigations from the police that started to suspect the Order in multiple disappearances of young girls and women, but that was all rumour, she thought. And some people of the faith even claim that the holy ritual never existed in the Book of Prayers, and that they were old traditions long forgotten since the beginning of time, and that Paradise is a place to retire to in the afterlife. Stories, all stories. But now, here, in front of her, was not a story nor rumour, but true artefact. A ritual once thought lost to time.

"Dahlia!" she slammed the leather bound book shut when she heard her father's booming voice from upstairs.

* * *

The family sat around the dinner table, the family's Book of Prayers still sat open on its stand. A candelabrum was centred on the table, surrounded by the meal prepared by Dahlia's mother, Lorraine Sullivan-Gillespie. Though how she managed to do anything after a drunken stupor was anyone's guess, Dahlia thought.

Lorraine was a sickly looking woman. Her hair had gone grey early on at the age of twenty-four when she gave birth to Dahlia. Her hair was once a dark raven's black, much like Dahlia's, and her eyes too, once a piercing icy blue, were milky and fogged over by time, depression and alcohol abuse. Dahlia knew, under her grimy aging exterior, that her mother was once beautiful and beaming with life. She pitied her.

Balthazar and Lorraine sat opposite each other on either end of the table, it would seem separated not only physically but also by spirit, as well. The Gillespie children sat opposite each other as well, filling in the table.

"Let us say a prayer and read an excerpt from the Book." Balthazar reached out his hands to his children. Dahlia stared at his rough, big hands, hesitant to take his at first. And as she finally did, she felt his grip tighten.

"O Lord," he began, closing his eyes and bowing his head. His family followed suit. "Blessed be thy name O Holy Mother of all creation. We beg of you, Lord God, to give us the strength and power to live as you once did in blessing us with life and of each other. And we pray that we will soon complete our holy church to you, O Lord. Bring unto us, your holy and righteous servants, your grace and power. I read now to my family a passage of prayer from the Chapter of Brother Joseph Shepherd." Balthazar opened his eyes to read from the book, his head still bowed slightly. And as he read the passage, he paused intermittently to allow his family to repeat after him.

"'The Divine Mother God and her Divine Surrogates of Lobsel Vith and Xuchilbara grant unto her holiest of servants eternal majesties in return for temples and obedience in Her name. I give to you unreservedly my body and my eternal soul. Whatever darkness may befall me, I will endure with you beside me. Amen.'"

As her father finished his prayer, Dahlia opened her eyes and watched as the candlelight swayed to and fro. It dimmed slowly, flickering as if grasping for air until it finally extinguished itself. A wisp of white-grey smoke rose in their wake. The room sunk into darkness. Dahlia heard the chanting from a distant time growing in the darkness. The whisper of the candles stopped, frozen in time and space.

She turned to find that her parents were slumped over, heads lolled above their rotten food. She saw what looked like dried bloodstains on the front of their clothes. Their hands were still clasped around her fingers. They felt cold and dewy and sticky. She threw back her arms in disgust and fright, releasing her hands from their grasps and blew out a gasp of air, which blew the candelabrum back to life.

"Whatever darkness may befall me— Dahlia?! What's the matter?"

The soft yellow glow of the candlelight returned with the rest of the lights in the dining room. Her family bewildered by Dahlia's sudden burst at the table.

Dahlia had broken out into a cold sweat. Her clothes clung tightly to her body.

Her father asked again, "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she responded, staring coldly at the dancing candlelight.


	3. The Holy Sacrament of Valtiel

**THE HOLY SACRAMENT OF VALTIEL AND RECKONING OF OUR HOLY MOTHER GOD'S PARADISE UNTO EARTH  
** _Valtiel, Agent of God and Protector of Paradise Incognito_

 _How man shall conceive his future will sculpt and contour his present. His vision gives tone and purpose to every action and thought through the day. If our sense of future is weak, then we shall live without aim, caught forever in the draft of loneliness, wandering without purpose._

 _Our faith in God and of Her Divine Angels has from the beginning of Her time been characterised by a strong and focused sense of future, with the belief that our Holy Mother God will be resurrected and purge the world in a cleansing flame, and from whose ashes will rise a paradise. From the Day our God was laid to rest, to return to the Other, our people have held this belief in Her return, as it was She who spoke with purpose to us, Her sainted peoples, upon her deathbed._

O dear servants of your Master God,  
I shall pity you when I am gone.  
You shall suffer in my absence,  
But know that my death is not for long.

My body will be reborn anew,  
My soul shall once again return.  
And before this, I, your Holy Mother,  
Demand your obedience unto my will,  
And waken me as the Earth shall fall to Peril.

Heed to my Holy Attendant, my servants,  
For he is Valtiel,  
My Dearest Angel who shall rip me  
From the womb of the Blessed Holy Mother of God.

She shall submit to me, her Master alone,  
Not with haste but through affirmation  
—And acceptance of my Power over all Creation.

She may come unwillingly,  
And so you must cleanse her through flames,  
And strip her of Worldly possessions –  
Enlighten her, the true purpose of Paradise,  
And she will affirm me, submit to me her soul and body.

O dear servants of your Master God,  
Paradise shall purge this World  
Of pain and of suffering, for that is all you know.

O dear servants of your Master God,  
I bless you with my Paradise.

 _The one they call Valtiel stood by her side as she lay. His hood cloaked his face, and he in his royal garbs of crimson red, washed with the blood of God's children, the 21 sacraments, which secure Her passing into the Other. And upon his hood and on his back, he bore the Mark of Metatron._

 _As our Holy Mother laid to rest, her crimson robes and fiery locks fell upon her sacred body. Valtiel then stripped of his garbs, save for his hood, and lay bare beside his Master God._

 _He drank from his Phial a Potion of silver and spoke unto us._

Our God Almighty has been laid to rest,  
And so I shall accompany Her in to the Other  
Her holy servants of ordained blood  
Shall call upon me, the Archangel Valtiel,  
To govern over Her rebirth,  
For I am now, by the graces of our Holy Mother God,  
Blessed be my name, an Archangel and Loyal Knight to her God Almighty.

Call to me, by sacrifice of Virgin Hearts,  
From three shrines of Death across the place of silent spirits  
And upon the Sacred Altar, in three saucers,  
The Past, the Present, the Future,  
Summon my being to attend to Her Divine Spirit.  
I shall, in my wake and slumber,  
Protect our God Almighty and her Holy Vessel  
From Death and Harm that should befall her  
—Until the rebirth of our Lord Almighty.

And heed, O servants of our Mother God,  
That the vessel be born from hunger of Love  
—But not of Despair.

 _And then he laid his head upon Her bosom and passed through to the Other with Her Holy Spirit by his side._

 _O brethren of the Sacred Order,  
_ _Our future must be bright and strong.  
_ _For we live with purpose  
_ _To bring unto this world  
_ _A new Paradise cleansed with fire._

 _Come, O brethren of the Sacred Order, bless Her name God,  
_ _All you servants of God!  
_ _You Sons and Daughters of God, posted to the twilight  
_ _In God's shrine,  
_ _Lift your praising hands to raise Her name,  
_ _And in turn may our Holy Mother bless you—  
_ _God of all creation and of all Paradise!_

* * *

 **Author here! I hope this gives you some insight into the teachings of the Order. I've pulled together some resources from what I know about the Order and their mythos behind the Ritual of Resurrection. I've of course sprinkled in some Judeo-Christian prayers and some of my own** **flavour!**

 **This chapter is meant to be a bridge chapter between Ch. 2 and Ch. 4, in which we jump further into the future, where we will meet *MORE* members of the Order...These next few chapters will represent the end of "Arc One" to my story, after which I'll begin "Arc Two," which switches the perspective and story. Almost to the events of 1965!**

 **No reviews yet, but I'll still keep writing! But let me know what you think, please?**


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